


Three Christmas's

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: Also PREPARE FOR EMOTIONAL PAIN, F/F, I'm so sorry, Yes I am already writing Christmas fic, fight me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: Serena and Bernie and the first three Christmases they spend together.





	Three Christmas's

Their first Christmas together isn’t perfect – by any standard.

They decide to invite all their children over. For Elinor and Jason and Charlotte and Cameron to all meet. Bernie frets for days. On the 24th, Serena takes her out to distract her. Bernie has never been ice-skating before and Serena drags her to an outside rink. She’s not got any particular talent for it herself, but she can skate, can keep upright and balanced. Bernie, on the other hand . . .

She’s like a baby giraffe on the ice, newly-born and unused to its gangly limbs. Her feet skitter and slide. She clutches onto the side of the rink for dear life. Serena bites back a laugh. _Bad girlfriend_ , she chastises herself. She stops beside Bernie and places one hand on the middle of her back.

“Alright?”

“Remind me again why I let you talk me into these things?”

“Because it was something new and fun to do?”

“You and I have very different definitions of fun.”

Bernie looks Serena up and down, her thick coat, her fur scarf and hat – a hat that would look ridiculous on anyone else. When Serena had tugged it on this morning in the hallway, Bernie had smirked. “I didn’t realise we were going to the artic for this venture.

“And I didn’t realise,” Serena noted Bernie’s black skinny jeans, her grey jumper and her oversized scarf, “that we were going to a fashion show.”

“These are my normal clothes.”

“Exactly.” Only Bernie Wolfe could look that effortlessly hot.

Not daring to lose contact with the side of the rink, Bernie tightens her scarf awkwardly around her throat with one hand. She mumbles something about far less clothes. Her idea of fun.

“Behave yourself, Miss Wolfe.” Serena chuckles, helping Bernie to loop the scarf over her shoulder. “Come on,” she tilts her head to the other skaters behind them, “Oh, it’s not that bad. At least you haven’t fallen arse over tit. I did, three times the first time I went with Elinor. There was she whizzing around like a natural and I was that embarrassing mother, trying and failing to keep up.”

Serena threads her fingers through Bernie’s. “Give me your hand. We’ll go around together.”

“Together?” Bernie’s squeezes Serena’s hand.

“Together,” Serena smiles, her cheeks rosy from the cold and Bernie swears she falls in love with her a little bit more. If that’s at all possible. She supposes, as she puts one in foot in fromt of the other, her movements small and stilted and uncertain, that she fell in love like she skates. Found herself on unfamiliar ground and more than a little afraid. Edging, blundering forward until–

_Fuck._

Bernie’s foot slips. Serena’s hand pulls at hers, to steady her, but it’s too late. They crash to the ground, an entanglement of limbs and a chorus of groans.

All the movies lied. This is not romantic. This is not cute. It bloody hurts. Everything throbs. How? She doesn’t know. But it does.

Getting up, lifting herself off Serena, kneeling back – the cold of the ice piercing through her jeans burns – regaining her balance takes time. Moving this hand, shifting to that side, muttering apology after apology.

When they finally reach dry ground and unstrap their skates, they burst into laughter. Their bodies ache from the fall, but they can’t stop. Don’t stop until tears spill down their cheeks and they start to attract a lot of stares and think maybe it’s time to leave.

“Marvellous,” Serena grimaces when they dash to their car amid pelting rain. It doesn’t once let up. The run from her driveway to her house is seconds long, but they enjoy a second soak.

Bernie sees Serena frowns when she shrugs off her coat and she shucks off her own scarf and jumper, shivers in her bra and threads her fingers through Serena’s. Leads her upstairs and under their warm duvet. Limbs aching and cold and stiff, they massage warmth back into each other with their hands. Bernie rubs oil into the creases of Serena’s back and kneads the knots there. Draws out the tension there and a litany of moans from her lips.

“Now we’re equal,” she teases when she finishes, placing a kiss between Serena’s shoulder-blades.

“Hmm. I think you find your back’s gone out four times, but, don’t worry,” Serena turns slowly around to look up at Bernie. “I’m not keeping score.”

“Really? Because that is a lot of interest to repay.” Bernie's eyes glint.

“On second thoughts . . .”

Their love-making is slow. They slide against each other, slide into a rhythm, bodies slick with sweat but tender and bruised from earlier.

They’ve had enough acrobatics for one day.

-

Christmas morning dawns and Serena thinks Bernie’s hyperactive state rivals a six-year old Elinor’s. She jumps out of bed at half-five and doesn’t once sit down. She dusts already dusted surfaces and hovers already hovered carpets. Serena’s never seen her so . . . so inclined to tidiness.

Or as fussy over her appearance. Bernie changes. Three times. From a black shirt – _Is this too boring for Christmas?_ – to a plaid shirt – _Is this too, you know? No, I don’t. Is it too what? Forget about it_ – back to the black shirt – _Serena, how do I look? You’ve already . . . Bernie, stop fretting, you look lovely in everything you wear_ – before switching to and finally settling on a deep green jumper – _but you do look especially lovely in that colour._

They were going to prepare the dinner together, but Bernie flaps and flutters around the kitchen. Knocks things over with her elbows, nearly trips over her feet and over Serena. Serena relegates her to making the trifle for desert. It’s all going well – Bernie’s nervous energy diverted into a channel – until the trifle’s done and she stands behind Serena and makes her jump out of her skin.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Yes, I believe he has something to do with today.”

“Can you wear loudly slippers please?”

Bernie winds her arms around Serena’s waist and rests her chin on Serena’s shoulder. “Smell’s beautiful."

“It should be done just after everyone arrives.”

“Skip the awkward hellos and go right to food. I like your thinking.” Bernie presses her lips to Serena’s neck, the soft material of the red hat Serena’s worn all day brushing against her face. She trails kisses down Serena’s skin.

“Or it _will_ be done on time if someone stopped . . . ah . . . distracting me.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I told you, it’s nearly –”

“I wasn’t talking about the dinner.”

Serena twists around in Bernie’s arms. “Do you _ever_ stop thinking about sex?”

“Why? Do you?”

“I know that tonight we’re going to have a house full of our children and that I don’t want them to complain how we’re scarred them for life so it’s not use trying even to entertain certain ideas. I prefer to get only excited for cake I’m know I’m going to be able to eat later.”

“I forget quiet’s not in your vocabulary.”

“Oi! That isn’t just my fault.”

“No,” Bernie smiles smugly. “It isn’t.”

Serena’s phone beeps and she slips past Bernie to pick up off the counter. “Anyway – back to business.” Serena slides a finger over her phone screen. “Elinor says she’ll be here in ten.”

Bernie gulps. _Actually_ gulps.

“Relax,” Serena says.

“What if she – she’s never – how is she going to –”

“This is my first time meeting your daughter too.” Serena wipes off a bit off strawberry sauce she spots on Bernie’s cheek with a tea towel. “And I assure you, I am equally, how shall we say, bricking it.”

“All our children under one roof.”

“Scary,” Serena agrees. “But wonderful. And I’m not saying everything’s going to go smoothly – hell it isn’t Christmas if Elinor doesn’t critique my cooking at least four times – but whatever happens, we’re together. We’ll face it together.” Serena kisses Bernie’s cheek. Her lips linger, soft, familiar, and suddenly Bernie doesn’t feel quite as terrified.

“Now, Major. Hop to it.” Serena slaps Bernie’s arse lightly with a tea towel. “The table still needs laying.”

“That makes both of us.” Serena hears Bernie say, a moment later, from the dining room. Serena snorts with laughter.

Bernie is rummaging for candles out of the back of a kitchen cupboard when the doorbell rings. She looks at Serena and Serena looks at her. They take a breath, together.

Christmas. All their children under one roof. They can do this.


End file.
